For You

I... I DON'T KNOW (DANTE)

Dante watched from the camera as Zanya slept, her delicate features illuminated by the moonlight filtering through the window. She looked peaceful, almost untouched by the horrors of her past. Almost. But Dante knew better. Even in sleep, her brows furrowed slightly, as if the nightmares still clung to her subconscious, refusing to let her go.

And he had done something that would probably make her hate him if she ever found out.

He had planted a nano-chip-sized listening device in her ear. The tiny chip was barely visible, but Dante knew it was there. Nestled discreetly in Zanya’s ear, the nano listening device ensured that he could hear everything, track every breath, every whisper, every threat that dared to come near his angel.

It wasn’t about trust. It was about control. About ensuring that no matter where she was, no matter what happened, he would always know. No more surprises. No more unknown threats lurking in the dark. He had lost too much in his life to let her slip through his fingers.

“You’re a possessive bastard, you know that, right?” Xavier drawled, leaning against the desk in Dante’s study, arms crossed over his chest.

Dante didn’t bother looking up from his laptop. “And?”

“Never thought I’d see the great Dante Moretti turning into a lovesick fool.”

Dante shot him a cold glare, but Xavier only chuckled, completely unbothered. “Admit it. You’d burn the world down if anyone so much as looked at her the wrong way.”

He wouldn’t deny it.

Xavier chuckled. “No denial, huh?” He pushed off the desk, smirking. “I’m starting to think you don’t just want to protect her—you want to own her.”

Dante’s fingers paused over the keyboard. Own her? No. She wasn’t a possession. But she was his. His to protect, his to claim, his to keep safe from whatever ghosts haunted her past. And now, he had a lead.

“I don’t want to talk about him.”

The monster in his angel’s life was a him.

A him. A single word, yet it sent a dark rage boiling beneath Dante’s skin.

His jaw clenched, his mind sharpening like a blade. He had suspected as much, but hearing Zanya’s reaction, hearing the sheer terror in her silence whenever the past was brought up, confirmed it. A man had hurt her. A man had taken something from her. The one who had left her broken and is still breaking her. For that, he would die.

He turned to Xavier, his voice a deadly whisper. “Start digging into the Garcias’ accident seventeen years ago.”

Xavier raised a brow, swirling his glass. “You think it’s connected?”

Dante’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I don't know. Just find out.”

Xavier’s smirk vanished, replaced by sharp focus. “Consider it done.”

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The moment Dante stepped into Miguel Garcia’s office, the tension thickened like a storm on the horizon. The older man leaned back in his chair, his dark eyes assessing, measuring. Not with fear, not with hostility—just the quiet scrutiny of a man who had lost too much and refused to lose more.

"So," Miguel finally spoke, his voice steady, deliberate. "You’ve taken an interest in my daughter."

Dante didn’t hesitate. "She’s mine." His voice was firm, unwavering. "Nobody else’s."

Miguel raised a brow. "Is that so?"

"Yes." Dante met his gaze head-on. "I don’t need to justify it. I don’t need permission. I’m just letting you know."

A slow exhale left Miguel’s lips, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You sound damn sure of yourself."

"I am."

Miguel studied him for a long moment, then leaned forward, clasping his hands together on the desk. "Zanya isn’t just some possession to be claimed, Moretti. She’s my daughter. And she’s been through enough."

Dante’s jaw tightened. "I know." His voice dropped, lethal with promise. "And I will kill anyone who tries to hurt her again."

Miguel hummed, thoughtful. "You remind me of myself when I was younger. Reckless. Possessive." His eyes darkened. "Obsessive."

Dante didn’t flinch. "And yet, here you are, knowing that kind of love is the only kind that truly protects."

Silence stretched between them, heavy with understanding. Finally, Miguel nodded. "Then protect her."

Dante inclined his head, accepting what wasn’t permission—but a warning. And Miguel knew just as well as he did—Dante Moretti never lets go of what was his.

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The next day, Dante and Zanya sat at a long dining table, surrounded by the Garcia family. The tension in the air was palpable, heavy with the weight of unspoken words.

Natalia, Mrs. Garcia, smiled gently at her. “Tell me, dear, how did you grow up?”

Zanya tensed.

Natalia didn’t seem to notice as she continued, “Are your foster parents still alive?”

Silence.

“What’s your favorite food?”

More silence.

“Your favorite color?”

Zanya’s grip on Dante’s hand tightened like a vice. She refused to lift her gaze, staring at her untouched plate as though it held the answers she didn’t have.

“I… I don’t know,” she finally whispered.

Lucia scoffed from across the table. “You don’t know?” She leaned forward, a cruel smile on her lips. “You don’t know anything about yourself, do you? It’s like… like you’re borrowing someone else’s body.”

Dante’s eyes darkened instantly, his entire body going rigid. His grip on Zanya tightened, barely restraining himself from putting Lucia in her place right then and there.

Dante’s eyes darkened. His free hand curled into a fist under the table.

Lucia’s gaze flicked to him, the challenge clear. “You deserve someone who knows who they are. Someone who isn’t… lost.” She tilted her head, her smile sharpening. “Someone like me.”

Dante didn’t flinch, didn’t blink. But the temperature in the room seemed to drop.

Zanya finally looked up, blinking in confusion. “Wait… what? Am I missing something here?”

Her innocence, her sheer lack of awareness, hit Dante like a punch to the gut. She didn’t even realize what was happening—what he had already decided.

His grip on her hand loosened slightly, shifting so he could lace their fingers together, grounding her. Protecting her.

Dante nearly laughed. She actually thought she could replace Zanya? Pathetic.

“Lucia, that’s enough,” Alejandro scolded, his tone firm. He turned to Zanya, his expression apologetic. “She’s just joking.”

Lucia huffed, but Dante could see the bitterness beneath her expression. She wasn’t joking. Not one bit.

Natalia sighed and stood. “Zanya, come walk with me.”

Zanya hesitated, her grip on Dante tightening for just a second before she finally let go. He gave her a small nod, his silent way of telling her it was okay. She nodded and left with Natalia, disappearing down the hall.

The moment she was out of sight, Dante leaned forward, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. “Lucia.”

She stiffened, her smugness vanishing instantly, her blind rage. She resented Zanya’s beauty, the attention she was getting. But what she failed to realize was that Zanya was family. And no amount of resentment would change that.

Dante’s gaze landed on Miguel and Alejandro, sharp and unwavering, a silent warning passing between them. Miguel met his stare with quiet contemplation, understanding the message loud and clear—Zanya was his, and he wouldn’t tolerate anything that hurt her. Alejandro, on the other hand, was too busy reprimanding Lucia, his voice low but firm as he scolded her for her stupidity. The tension in the room crackled, thick and heavy, until Miguel finally spoke, his voice laced with quiet authority.

“If you spout any more nonsense from your mouth, Lucia, I’m not going to save you from the hands of The Dante Moretti.”

Lucia stiffened, swallowing hard, and for the first time since her tirade began, her arrogance wavered. Miguel didn’t wait for her response. With a final glance at Dante, he turned and strode towards the balcony, stepping out into the open air. His gaze softened as he looked down, watching his wife with their long-lost daughter, the family he had once thought was lost forever.

Lucia had no idea who she was playing with. But she would learn. And Dante would make sure it was a lesson she never forgot.